Vladimir Nabokov. El Leonardo
Vladimir Nabokov. THE LEONARDO
Romantovski did not respond.
"Sleep, sleep," said Anton, slapping the door with his palm.
The light peered silently through the chink. Anton shook the door handle. The golden thread snapped.
Thenceforth both brothers (but especially Anton, thanks to his lacking a job) established a watch over their neighbor's insomnia. The enemy, however, was astute and endowed with a fine hearing. No matter how quietly one advanced toward his door, his light went out in stantly, as if it never had been there; and only if one stood in the cold corridor for a goodish length of time, holding one's breath, could one hop